


To Chronicle an Extraordinary Voyage

by pocky_slash



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-12
Updated: 2006-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: Will's temp work at NASA Public Affairs doesn't go quite the way he planned...
Relationships: Will Bailey/Sam Seaborn
Kudos: 7





	To Chronicle an Extraordinary Voyage

**Author's Note:**

> So, about fifteen years ago, [](https://celbalrai.livejournal.com/profile)[**celbalrai**](https://celbalrai.livejournal.com/) requested a ficlet " _an AU in which Sam & Will meet differently, preferably in an earlier season_."
> 
> Spoilers up to "Galileo." Some of the dialogue in here comes right from that episode. You'll know it when you see it, clearly, as Sorkin is a much better writer than I. There might be more of this, but odds are that this is it.

"They're not going to like it," Will said for what felt like the hundredth time. He rubbed his forehead in frustration as Scott rolled his eyes. This, Will decided, was the last time he ever did his father a favor.

"Can you tell me one thing that's wrong with this introduction?" Scott asked him. Will tried his best not to look condescendingly at Scott over the top of his glasses, but it was a losing battle.

"I can give you a whole list of things," Will said. "Let's start with the fact that it sounds like the opening paragraph of an eighth grade science project."

"I've been working in NASA public affairs for three years, Will," Scott said, returning Will's condescending glare. "You're a temp who's here to cover this event because Linda's on maternity leave and the higher ups at Public Affairs wanted another speechwriter on staff for the week. I think I have a little more experience with what's needed here."

Before Will could peevishly snap that he was pretty amazed Scott had been writing speeches for three years, another man, who looked like he meant business, approached them in their corner.

"Excuse me," he said, and after a moment, Will recognized him as Sam Seaborn, "who wrote this?"

Will held his hands up defensively. "It was all him. Believe me, I've washed my hands of responsibility of this." Seaborn gave a quirky smile before turning to Scott, and Will felt his cheeks flush. He mentally willed them to stop that. This was no time to start flirting with White House senior staff, and besides, Seaborn had been the one involved with the hooker about six months ago, hadn't he?

 _Friends,_ Will's mind reminded him. _He had only been friends with her. What kind of straight man is only_ friends _with a hooker?_

He did his best to snap his mind out of that line of thought as quickly as possible, just in time to hear Seaborn insult Scott's writing ability, perhaps a little snootily so. Well. It wasn't like Scott didn't deserve it.

"Can you believe that guy?" Scott muttered once Sam had wandered away, pen already scribbling out most of his own copy of the intro. Will didn't respond. He was too focused on Sam, which was a bad, bad idea, but he was also suddenly and acutely aware that the President of the United States had just entered the room.

Will had grown up around generals, dictators, and world leaders, but he had never worked with one directly before, and he had a respect and admiration for Bartlet that was unmatched by any of the distinguished guests he had sat with at his father's table.

It was a respect that only grew when Bartlet brought the rehearsal to a halt with a funny look on his face, squinting at the teleprompter as if he couldn't quite believe what he was reading.

"Who wrote this intro?" Bartlet asked.

"I did, sir," Scott said. He was starting to seem nervous about what he had previously considered a masterpiece, and Will had to concentrate very hard to keep from laughing. "I'm Scott Tate from NASA Public Affairs."

The President got to his feet and shook Scott's hand, smiling patiently.

"Scott. 'Unique' means 'one of a kind,'" he said. "Something can't be very unique, nor can it be extremely historic."

Scott opened his mouth to reply, but before he could defend himself, CJ Cregg added, "While we're at it, do we have to use the word "live" twice in the first two  
sentences like we just cracked the technology?"

Scott was looking extremely uncomfortable. "Look," he started to say.

"We're also broadcasting in living color, right?" CJ added.

"Sam?" Bartlet asked, turning his attention across the room to where Seaborn was standing, smiling to himself.

"Yeah," he said, as if he knew this was coming. He had, Will realized. The moment he walked in. It was one of the greatest realizations of speech writing, to know that you're in tune enough with who you're writing for to know exactly what they want. Will couldn't even imagine the honor that must come with realizing that the person you're connecting with on that level is the leader of the free world.

"He's gonna make some changes," Bartlet said to Scott, but Scott was already walking over to Sam, the look on his face stuck halfway between embarrassment and frustration.

"You're going to clear them with me?" he asked Sam. (And when, Will wondered, did he become 'Sam' and not 'Mr. Seaborn'?)

"I doubt it," Sam said, and this time Will _did_ snicker. Sam heard him and looked up, catching his eye and sharing a small, amused smile with him. Just as Will felt his ears turning red, Sam turned to the staffer by the teleprompter and said, "Write this: 'Good morning. Eleven months ago a 1200 pound spacecraft blasted off from Cape Canaveral, Florida. Eighteen hours ago...' Is it eighteen hours ago? We're on the air at noon eastern."

"Yeah," CJ said, before Will could manage to do that math.

"'Eighteen hours ago it landed on the planet Mars. You, me, and 60,000 of your fellow students across the country along with astroscientists and engineers from the Jet Propulsion Lab in Southern California, NASA Houston, and right here, at the White House, are going to be the first to see what it sees, and to chronicle an extraordinary voyage of an unmanned ship called Galileo V.'"

Will was literally breathless.

Things moved quickly after that. The President and CJ began to delegate tasks to the staff from Communications and NASA Public Affairs before quickly leaving the rehearsal and promising to be back for another run-through later in the day. Will stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, ignoring Scott's sulking, still in awe of the sentences that Sam had composed on the spot and the gravitas with which he had delivered them.

"Hey, what's your name?" Will blinked and looked up at Sam Seaborn questioningly. "You who washed your hands of the original intro?"

"Will," Will said, walking over to Sam and offering a hand. "Will Bailey."

"Sam Seaborn," Sam said, shaking his hand. "Are you with NASA Public Affairs?"

"No," Will said with a small laugh, taking his hand back and using it to self-consciously adjust his glasses. "I mean, yes. Sort of." Sam raised a curious eyebrow. "They're down a writer in Public Affairs and I'm a speechwriter without a job for the time being. My father knows some people over there and when they mentioned they needed some help...." He gestured vaguely and laughed. "It basically boils down to the fact that I'm thirty-one and my dad is still getting me work."

Sam laughed good-naturedly and leaned against the side of the table next to him, very subtly watching Will out of the corner of his eye as he fiddled with his reading glasses. Will got the distinct impression that Sam was checking him out.

"So, what do you do when you're not being ignored by Scott Tate and NASA?" he asked.

"I work for the DCCC," Will said. "I have... well, some might say it's a reputation for running campaigns that are destined to fail." Sam nodded, his smile a just a little patronizing. "I know, I know," Will said off his look. "Believe me, I've heard it from everyone even remotely involved with any campaign I've ever run. But you can't always just... give up on blowouts."

"Will, the whole definition of a blowout is—"

Will held up a hand to interrupt him. "No, Sam. There are things that come up in these campaigns... there are issues that are raised, topics that are discussed, things that this White House so strongly believes in that would never be brought up in anything but a blowout. And sometimes you change minds. Not many, not more than a few, usually, but you never know. You can't just abandon a candidate, an entire district, just because you're afraid of losing."

Sam stared at him critically and Will felt his ears start to turn pink. He held his ground, though, and after a few seconds ticked by, Sam smiled.

"Help me with this," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Come back to my office with me and help me with this speech. With this introduction."

Will blinked, unmoving. Sam had not just asked him that. There was no way that Sam Seaborn had just asked him to help compose a draft that the President of the United States was going to read from.

"Um..."

"Look," Sam said plainly, putting his hand on Will's wrist, "NASA doesn't need a speech writer for the time being, and I'd like some help. You're good. You're very good. You're better than NASA, anyway, so come back to my office and help me write this." Will was still in silent shock. "I'll buy you lunch," Sam added. He smiled, and there was just a little bit of a flirtatious edge to it, enough to make Will's wrist burn under Sam's touch.

"Well, with lunch to sweeten the deal, who am I to refuse?" Will managed to say.

"This way," Sam said, tugging his wrist towards the hallway before letting it go.

Will sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. This was either going to be the greatest afternoon of his life or a disaster. Still, he wasn't going to miss out on the former because he was afraid of the latter. He steeled himself, let out his long breath, and followed Sam down the hallway.


End file.
